I need you to believe me
by sshk0409
Summary: Set at the ending of 2x18 between the hospital and the desert. What if Lucifer had gone to Chloe's apartment?


Chloe Decker held her breath and faced up to the streaming water. _Shoot. Recoil. The look of shock on his face. A bloody flower blooming across his chest as he fell._ The water sliding in between her closed lips tasted saltier than it normally did. She slammed her fist into the shower surround, grateful that Trixie was at a sleepover and Maze was at the hospital with Linda; there was no one there to question why she was beating up the walls. Hector Ruiz didn't have to die. He didn't have to shoot at Charlotte. He could have put the gun down, and he'd still be alive. She scrubbed her body harshly, but while the loofah could clean sand, dirt and gunpowder from her skin, it could do nothing to cleanse the stain of killing.

As she toweled off, the cell phone notification light blinking caught her eye, reminding her that Lucifer had called earlier. She pressed the voicemail button.

"Detective. Hello, it's me, Lucifer. Um, I just wanted to apologize for being, well, for being so elusive. But I also wanted to say that I am done hiding. So I'm coming over now to tell you the truth about me. 'Cause I think it's time I finally opened your eyes as to why strange things sometimes happen around me. Why my brother's so saintly and Maze is so… not. And I'm so, well, magnetic. No, but s-seriously, I... I want to tell you everything. No more going backwards."

"Oh, shit!" Chloe whispered, half afraid he was already in her apartment. Already standing in her kitchen, grinning and planning some quip about what exactly she did in the shower. Just like last time…. She rushed to the closet, flipped through the hangers and threw a few outfits on the bed. She briefly debated putting on make-up, but decided only on tinted lip gloss as anything else would make it look like she was trying too hard.

Speaking of trying too hard…. She fingered the silky material of the first dress laying on the bed: the little red number borrowed, and never returned, for the Player's Party at Lux. The second dress was a gift from Maze, who claimed that every woman needed a little black dress. To call it a dress, though, was a generous compliment as it was only a leather strapless bra connected to a mini mini-skirt by sheer chiffon. The third outfit was a peach silk blouse that tied at the neck with a large bow and a tea length navy skirt bought for a wedding over a decade before. "Great. Apparently, I think my choices are flirt, street walker or nun." She tossed the clothes into a heap in the closet and pulled on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. "I choose comfort."

Chloe forced herself to walk sedately down the stairs, no need to look anxious, only to find the bottom floor empty and still. "Of course, he's not here," she sighed. He probably got distracted by one of the many Brittanies that traipsed through Lux on a nightly basis, and decided to take a detour via his bedroom. "It's not like I don't have better things to do than sit around and wait."

An hour later, a bottle of Merlot had reached its halfway point, the kitchen cabinet doors gleamed from a fresh scrubbing, the bathroom smelled of bleach, and Lucifer was still absent. "Maybe I should go to Lux and hook up with some cute drunk guy myself. The bar tenders know me, so… free drinks. Bonus. And Maze will be happy that I got some action… double bonus." But at the thought of some random stranger, no matter how hot, touching her… the creepy-crawlies suddenly running up and down her spine were revulsion, not anticipation. She left the Merlot and her wine glass on the kitchen island and curled up on the couch with a fluffy blanket. "I hate you, Lucifer. I really do. I could be happily asleep right now, but no. I'm still awake because you said you were coming right over! And you never break your promises, right?" This was just one more example, in a very long line, that showed just how twisted their relationship, both personal and professional, really was. He acted like he really had no conception of how, or even that, his actions impacted other people. Or that he didn't care. And just as she was ready to finally kick him out of her life for good, he'd do something, or say something, that showed exactly how much he did care…. And the cycle would repeat. It wasn't healthy for either of them. And to make a bad relationship worse, even at their lowest points, she wanted… more than anything… the man on the beach who all but told her that he loved her.

She fell asleep remembering their dinner on the balcony, the laughter and earnestness in his voice, admiration and affection in his eyes, the feel of her hand in his, his thumb running over her ring finger…. The memories sparked fantastical dreams of a diamond ring sparkling among champagne bubbles and the penthouse strewn with red rose petals. And then she was in a park, somewhere, standing in a flower covered gazebo. Somehow, Father Frank was there, too, solemnly intoning, "Will you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?" And Candy squeezed Lucifer's hands as she smiled up at him, "Oh yes. Yes I do. Again."

Back in the penthouse, lightly illuminated by a full moon rising over the city. Maze straddling a prostrate Lucifer, sewing the wings from the auction onto his back while Chloe pinned his writhing hands to the floor. Chloe watched in growing horror as the stitches dissolved and the ragged skin on the wings fused seamlessly with his back. And then Lucifer standing shirtless on the balcony, moonlight gilding his skin silver and amplifying the wings unearthly aura, voice hoarse from repressed screaming, begging, "Please don't run from me." Over and over as she backed away into the elevator. A final anguished whisper as the doors closed," I love you, Chloe."

Lucifer sat on a bench in the passageway outside Chloe's apartment, willing his hands to stop shaking, his head to stop throbbing. Life had been so much easier when the only emotions he felt were hot burning lust and cold burning anger. Being vulnerable, emotionally and physically, was Hell. Grief, relief, hurt, love: conflicting emotions, many of which he could barely identify, coursed through his brain, translated into physical pain. He needed to scream, to punch something.

How many times had he watched, helpless, while Chloe stood in the path of a bullet? How many more times would she put her life in danger to protect complete strangers? He would give her whatever she wanted, was willing to pay any price to keep her safe. But she wasn't the kind of person to put herself first….

How many times had her life been in danger because of _him_? Both parents and two brothers had been more than willing to use her to bend him to their will. Behave the way I want you to behave, do what I want you to do, or Chloe gets hurt. Or killed. Even his desire to punish his Father had been stymied because of the potential fallout; he couldn't guarantee that any human would survive a confrontation between the two most powerful celestial beings. He refused to make Chloe a sacrificial pawn in his quest for revenge.

Especially since she was already his Father's pawn since conception, the one being designed just for him. To make him repent? To teach him humility? To get him to care about his Father's creations? Since the stick, Hell, hadn't broken his willfulness, was she the carrot? Or was she a reward for the prodigal son?

 _Why had his Father made her?_

Did Amenadiel get his powers back to help Dr. Linda? Or to prevent the inhabitants of Los Angeles from being fried by the divine light of the Goddess? Or was it simply a continuation of the bargain made all those months ago in an airplane hanger? Chloe's life in exchange for bending his knee to his Father's will?

So many questions and not a single answer in sight…. He clenched his fists in anger and frustration and mentally cursed his Father. A simple conversation could have prevented so much. But the all powerful being was too bloated with his own consequence to talk to anyone.

Maybe he should just leave. Protect himself and the Detective by putting a few thousand miles between them. Pull up stakes and move to Miami or New York. Or Amsterdam. Change his name and lie low for a few decades. Maybe change his external appearance and live in Shanghai or Kuala Lumpur; Asian cultures had their own versions of the Devil…. Go back to a life of deals, carefree leisure, and conscience-free pleasure.

Maze would stay and keep a watch over Chloe; he was pretty sure of that.

He was also pretty sure that he'd be unable to stay away for any length of time…. Especially since he'd only managed two weeks the last time he'd left for good….

He got up, fully intending to go back to Lux. And found himself in front of her apartment instead of his car. Lucifer wiggled the handle to Chloe's front door. Locked, of course. He smiled lazily at the door knob and felt, more than heard, the tumblers hastily turning to their unlocked positions. The door opened silently on its hinges.

A single lamp illuminated the sleeping form of the detective curled up on the couch. Lucifer crept over to better look at his friend; his shoulders started to shake with silent laughter, the back of his skull throbbing with each movement. Chloe's one flaw was her snoring; she could sleep peacefully for quite a long time and then, for a few minutes, let out really loud snorts that would easily compete with pig's grunts. The only times he had watched her sleeping before was when she was in the hospital and that one drunken night. Seeing her doped up on painkillers, of one sort or another, versus watching her natural sleeping state was quite different: she looked much more peaceful now, years younger…. Watching her, he could feel his anger draining away, her mere presence a soothing balm for his soul.

Other than the occasional snore loud enough to wake the dead, she was, quite literally, the perfect woman. Smart and not afraid to show it. Loving and protective, and not just of her immediate family and friends. Strong and independent, but able to admit when she needed assistance. And, last, but certainly not least, beautiful but not vain. "Dad knew exactly what he was doing when he created you." Lucifer whispered. And since she wasn't awake, he added, "I love you, Chloe."

He had never said it before. Not to her, not to anyone…. Not even as a child. Not even as a joke. He had certainly never felt it before. Sure, he felt affection towards some of his longer-termed lovers. And more recently for Maze, his mother, and surprisingly, Amenadiel. And to some extent, Trixie and Ms. Lopez. He didn't even know when it happened: one day she was just an irritating itch he needed to scratch, a puzzle he needed to solve, and the next, she was… more… everything.

Throughout the centuries he had heard variations of the phrase 'you are more to me than life itself' and been puzzled by it. How could one person ever mean that much? And then her faith had wavered…. Staring down the barrel of her gun, he had seen a glimpse of how empty his life would be without her, without her trust. Facing down Malcolm, he had seen another glimpse of how empty everyone else's life would be without her, and he had pushed the gun barrel to point at his stomach. A gut shot took longer to die from than a shot to the chest, and the corrupt cop would most likely stay to the end to gloat…. He had hoped that Chloe would have enough time to find Trixie and escape. For their lives were worth far more than his.

His fingers tingled with the need to touch her face, to see if her skin was as soft as he remembered. He ached to play Prince Charming to her Sleeping Beauty. To carry her to her bedroom and not emerge for weeks. "I need a drink." He was so very parched, and whiskey would keep his hands busy and away from her.

The aroma tickling her into awareness was unique: an overlay of aged whiskey interspersed with the fainter acrid stench of a cigarette smoked hours ago and underneath it all, something… cologne maybe, or maybe just his natural scent, but whatever it was… it was all Lucifer…. Intoxicating, repelling, and arousing all at once. She was too tired to complain that, once again, he had managed to open a locked door and walk into her home uninvited. But then again, he had no locks to his penthouse, so maybe he felt it fair recompense for all the times she waltzed into his apartment unannounced….. "Lucifer, you're here."

"Detective." He smiled warmly, smoothing the blanket just a bit more over her legs. "I told you I would come, and I never break my promises." He sipped from his glass as he sat on the opposite end of the couch. "I hope you don't mind; I raided your liquor cabinet." He raised the glass in a toast and took another sip, almost finishing off the contents. Why was he so thirsty?

"I was dreaming about you."

"Naked, dreams, I hope," he grinned.

"You did have your shirt off…." The detective paused. Her dreams had all been of him. But in the last one, "You were standing on your balcony looking over the city. Do you remember those angel wings at the auction?" At his cautious nod, she continued, "Maze had just finished sewing them onto your back…. And then you turned around and the moonlight gave you an aura straight out of the movies. You somehow looked more _you_ with them on than you do in your suits…." At Lucifer's blank look, she hastily added, "It was a strange dream."

Chloe leaned over and took the tumbler away. "It's late. It's past midnight and I have to work tomorrow. Just… just tell me what you have to say."

He plucked the glass back and finished it off. "Liquid courage, Detective." He poured another inch of scotch and downed that as well, then rather loudly placed the glass on the coffee table. "It's one thing to tell someone the truth knowing that they'll never believe you. It's another thing entirely to make them believe. And usually when I do make a believer out of someone, well…. It can get a bit awkward…. You and I…. We've managed to muddle through some awkwardness before, though, right?" He shook his head slightly, winced.

Chloe's eyes narrowed. "Did you hurt yourself? Or are you drunk?" He didn't look his normal jubilant self, and it wasn't just because his shirt and suit were wrinkled and visibly sporting more than just a few grains of sand from his jump off the pier. It was odd that he hadn't changed; did that mean he hadn't been playing 'hide in sheets' with one of his Brittanies?

"I'm never drunk; my metabolism is too high."

"Oh, now you're claiming it's your metabolism that gets high?"

"Was that supposed to be a joke? Please stop trying to be funny, Detective. No, something hit me on the back of my head, and it hurts."

"Come lay your head on my lap, and I'll rub it for you." She swung her feet around to the front of the couch and patted her thigh in invitation.

"I'd rather you rub something else," he grumbled, complying with her command. And then, "Ow!" as her hand connected rather more forcibly than necessary with the lump on the back of his head.

Chloe ran her fingers through his hair feeling the slight bump. His hair, most of it still sculpted into place with mousse or hairspray, started to loosen up, the silky strands slipping over her fingers. As he slowly relaxed under her ministrations, she decided to simply enjoy the moment. He looked so innocent and trusting, which was as far from the truth as one could get and still be in the same galaxy. And the trust thing was pretty much the only thing preventing her from making potentially the biggest mistake of her life. When he wasn't his usual crass, hedonistic, and narcissistic self, she actually kind of liked him. Well, more like 'really liked' him. When Lucifer actually gave a damn about something other than himself, he was a pretty great person to be with. The annoying personality traits could be worked around, and sometimes were amusing…. Sometimes…. Rarely…. But trust? That was a deal breaker. Mostly. When he wouldn't even tell her his name…. "If I ask you a question, will you answer me truthfully?"

"Always the truth, Detective. You know that." He wiggled a bit trying to get his curled up body more comfortably situated on the couch; it was not exactly designed for a six foot plus man to lie down on, with or without a second person sitting on it. He much preferred the settee in the penthouse, or any couch he owned, really…. Now _there_ was furniture designed for comfort and relaxation, completely unlike this microfiber… thing.

"What is your name? Your birth name, I mean."

"Pass."

"No passing. You can't pass!" Her fingers stilled.

"I just did. Don't stop; that feels really good."

"Why won't you tell me?" Chloe resumed massaging his scalp. She was surprised he was still laying on her lap: casual touching was definitely not his thing. Slide your hand across any part of his body, in public even, with a sexy grin, and sure, he'd be totally on board with that. But casually touch his arm when making a point or pat his back in congratulation and he'd freeze up just like a toddler tasting soda for the first time: not exactly sure what this feeling was and not quite sure if it was a good feeling. And he'd just about have a full blown panic attack when Trixie or Ella hugged him.

"That's not who I am. Not for a very long time."

"That's not an answer." What did his family put him through Chloe wondered. If he had been as exuberant as a child as he was as an adult, he would have been like a Labrador retriever puppy. All silky deep brown/black hair and soft brown eyes framed by those super long lashes (he must have been a beautiful child), begging for someone to pay attention to him. Did they neglect him? Ignore him?

"Well, it's the only answer you're going to get right now." Now he sounded like a petulant child.

"I thought you came here to tell me the truth of who you really are."

"Oh, I did. I am." He rolled slightly to face up at her. "It's harder than I thought. I mean," he grinned, "it's always hard around you, Detective, but this is especially difficult. Ow, don't do that." He rolled back, resting his ear against her thigh again.

"Why don't you use _my_ name? I think you've called me Chloe once, maybe twice."

"Oh, that I can answer: respect. When you respect someone, you use their title. Though, come to think of it, if you stopped being a cop, I think I'd probably still call you Detective…."

"You don't call Maze by her title; don't you respect her?"

"I respect the Hell out of her, but humans tend to get a bit nervous when you call someone 'Hell's Best Torturer'."

"I guess I should start calling you Mr. Morningstar, then." She laughed softly.

"Only if you're wearing a Catholic school girl's uniform, and you're about to tell me you've been very naughty and need to be punished," he leered. "Ouch! Detective… I'd really appreciate it if you'd stop pressing on my goose egg." He paused, "You know, I think this is the longest I've had my head in someone's lap and _not_ been naked…. Ow, Detective, that hurts!"

"Stop being an ass, and I'll stop pressing on the teeny bump you call a goose egg."

"Truce?"

"For now. I'm beginning to think you make inappropriate comments out of habit and not because you actually want to sleep with me. Pavlov's dog kind of thing."

"Really? I assure you, most heartedly, that I do want to have sex with you."

"Huh. Every time I offered or came close to offering, you ran off. You even ran to Vegas and got married to avoid me."

"And here it is, ladies and gentlemen." In one smooth motion, Lucifer shifted from laying down to standing with tumbler and whiskey bottle in hand. "The part of our discussion where I can do nothing right." He filled the glass halfway and inwardly laughed that it corresponded with his state of mind: his glass was definitely half empty. "Damned if I do; damned if I don't. I proposition you, you say no, and you get mad. You show up at my home, drunk as a lord, I turn you down and you say you're OK with that, but in reality, you're mad."

"I wasn't angry; I _was_ relieved." And she had been. Mostly. Drunk booty calls were so not her thing, but it had been more than slightly humiliating to throw herself at him only to find out she was the one drunk woman, ok person drunk or sober, he would not sleep with.

"Ah, no. You were angry."

"So why did you turn me down? You've practically been begging me to sleep with you since the moment we first met. I finally say yes, and…."

"You didn't want _me_!" he snapped, and paused, surprised at the truth found in anger. "Dan hurt you; you wanted to hurt him back. I was just a means to an end." He sipped at his drink, rather pleased that he'd figured this one out on his own. Dr. Martin would be impressed.

"What about the other times I threw myself at you?" Chloe sounded bitter.

"Trust me, if the day ever comes when you truly want _me_ ….. But you don't; you want for me to become some white-washed version of who I really am. Respectful. Responsible. Respectable." As Chloe opened her mouth in protest, he interrupted. "No. There's enough between us that you don't need to sugarcoat anything to protect my feelings.

"And to be honest, I didn't get married to avoid you. Candy and I each had a problem only the other could solve. And since I don't lie, we had to get married in order for her to solve my problem."

"What problem."

"My mum wasn't telling me the whole truth. Candy, as my wife, put her enough off balance that I got to the truth."

"You didn't trust me enough to help you?"

"It wasn't about you, Detective…. I trust _you_ completely. It was about my mum; I didn't trust _her_. And while Mum may or may not have been on board with you and I getting married, it wouldn't have been totally unexpected."

"You and me… married… would _not_ have been unexpected?" Chloe sputtered.

"No. She knows how I…. She knows we're friends."

"Back up. She knows how you what?"

"She knew how I felt when you were dying. Very little scares me, Detective. Losing you…. I'm not unused to acquaintances dying…. But I… I… well, you've seen it before; I don't handle friends dying very well. "

"But you still ran off to Vegas to avoid me. I almost died, and you went gambling!"

"Yes, well…. That goes back to my previous point. Having died twice now, I can assure you, dying was far easier than feeling helpless to save you. So… I… left. "

"What do you mean you died twice?"

"I mean I died. Twice. My heart stopped? I went to Hell? Died. Dead as a door knob. You were there the first time, when Malcom shot me; the second time I needed to get the formula for the antidote to cure you. Without my wings, I can't simply pop down for a visit anymore, so….. I killed myself and… some friends brought me back."

A picture of Lucifer the angel from the dream popped I to her head. She firmly banished the mental image: angel's aren't real. "Lucifer, you want me to know the real you, and… and I do too. But what you're saying. It just can't be real. It's a fantasy, made up. Please. Just tell me the truth. Who are you."

Lucifer recognized this wasn't a question, more of a quiet demand. He retreated to the far end of the couch. "The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me Dad? Well, not the whole truth; the Devil must keep some things private. Even from you, Detective.

"I've told you this before, and I know you don't believe me, but I really am the Devil. I was born eons ago as an angel. Dad and Mum really are the God and Goddess of all creation. Mum called me her Morning Star when I was little, before my… well, before I was sent to Hell."

"Stop. Just…. Stop." Chloe exhaled heavily, index fingers rubbing the bridge of her nose. "I can't do this. I can't listen to this. You say you're going to tell me the truth, and then trot out the same nonsense. You keep being all cryptic and telling me I'll never understand you, and you know what? You're right! I never will understand you if you won't let me in. We're friends, partners. And it hurts, really, really hurts, that you feel you can't trust me."

"I do trust you, Detective," he protested.

"I get it. I do. Your childhood sucked." Chloe scooted over to sit cross-legged facing Lucifer, one knee pressed against his hip. She took his hands and squeezed them. "Your parents did a number on you; any hint of emotional intimacy and you go running for the hills. Or Vegas." Grey eyes peered into brown, searching for even the tiniest of cracks in his façade. "I… I want to understand, Lucifer. Help me understand. You can trust me with the truth; I can handle it."

"But that's just it, Detective. I tell you the truth, and you think that I'm lying. You've seen proof that I'm not human, and you don't believe it. One of the first questions you ever asked me was how I survived the hailstorm of bullets that killed Delilah! You saw Jimmy Barnes shoot me a half dozen times without leaving so much as a scratch. You've seen me move 20, 30 feet in the blink of an eye. I even gave you the bullet I plucked out of the air from when the dung beetle shot at his protégé. I know you've seen my eyes glow red, and I suspect you've seen my Devil face. You've seen me persuade people to tell me their innermost desires just by them looking into my eyes. I walked into Professor Carlisle's poisonous gas filled lab to save those kids, and you know there was no gas mask for me to wear. Well… I went in after you got far enough away from me, that is; being vulnerable around you is Damned inconvenient at times…. You saw Malcolm shoot me in the stomach. You saw the blood pool; you know there's no way anyone could lose that much blood and live. He killed me, Detective. I died, and the only reason I'm not sitting in Hell right now is that my Father sent me back here!" He twisted his hands, so his clasped hers. "I gave Mum her own universe tonight, and, as… as much as she drove me crazy, she's still my mum. And I'm never going to see Her again. I could use a shoulder, a figurative shoulder that is, to lean on. But first, I need you to believe me. I need you to believe what you've seen with your own eyes. I need you to see me for who and what I am, Detective!" Anger, hurt, loss: he felt like his chest was being squeezed in a vice and his stomach in danger of flipping inside out. His skin felt like the fires of Hell were licking at it, burning him again. He could feel his eyes filling with tears. Tears he refused to shed. He closed his eyes to blink them away, to hide from the disbelief he saw on Chloe's face.

"Just because I can't explain those things doesn't mean there isn't an explanation for them that doesn't involve god and angels."

Anger erupted. "Well, I doubt you could explain quantum mechanics in any great detail, either, but I don't see you doubting that physicists exist!" He shook his hands free and got up to pour another drink, filling the tumbler almost to the brim this time. He was still so thirsty. Chloe gasped loudly at the insult. He put the glass back down on the table, untouched, with a sigh. "I'm sorry, Detective. That was uncalled for. I apologize. In my defense, yesterday really was a very trying day."

"It's OK, Lucifer. No," she corrected herself, "No, it's not OK; you having a bad day is not an excuse to insult me. I… I have no idea how you do what you do. I do know it's not Kevlar; there's no way you'd fit it underneath your suits. I just… you know I don't believe in all that god stuff. I understand you're hurting, though." She unfolded her body from the couch and slid her arms around his waist, her head resting against his shoulder. "Now, don't go getting all skittish on me. This is not an emotionally intimate moment. This is simply a hug for a friend who's recovering from an exhausting day and needs a hug." She held on tight, feeling his arms and hands moving restlessly, unsure of what to do, eventually stopping on her hips. "What I do know is that as immature and selfish as you can be, that's not the whole of who you are. Every case has to be about you or your father. But in doing so, you vest yourself into each case, and you don't give up. You are never selfish with your time or your money. You care, very much, despite your protestations to the contrary, about people you've never met. Protector of the innocent and punisher of the guilty."

Lucifer wrapped his arms around Chloe and pressed her close. Regardless of the Detective's statement to the contrary, this _was_ an extremely emotionally intimate moment. Touching, hugging, was reserved for giving and receiving sexual pleasure. This hug was not pleasurable in the least, almost the opposite in fact. In addition to his stomach, chest and eyes rebelling, his throat now felt like it was all swollen and sore. He simultaneously felt like crushing Chloe into his body while crying into her neck and kissing the Hell out of her until they were joined so tightly he would hardly be able to tell where his body ended and hers began. Cool lips brushed against his cheek and he straightened, stiffened partially in shock and partially in want. "Detective…. Chloe…. Please…. Don't."

The kiss had been an accident. He was actually hugging her, bodies molding together in all the right places. Not like his usual hugs, which were more like him pretending he was holding a soap bubble. This had felt so good…. He was hunched over a bit, and she had turned her head, and her lips met his cheek…. Not designed, but that brief caress had felt wonderful. If she were being honest, she had wanted this, him, for a very long time…. She pressed soft, feathery light kisses against his jaw, interspersed with the whispered query, "Don't what?"

"Don't stop," he whispered back and turned his head to capture her lips with his own.

"Decker! You getting up today?" Chloe jumped away from Lucifer, nearly falling off the couch. She blinked stupidly up at Mazikeen who stood over her, hands on hips. "Well? It's past 2 o'clock. You were supposed to pick Trixie up an hour ago. You weren't answering your phone, so Trixie called me to come get her. I dropped her off at Dan's parents' place."

Past two? AM? Chloe looked uncomprehendingly at the bright sunshine streaming through the windows. PM? Had she really slept that long? As Maze talked about Linda's recovery and Charlotte Richard's amnesia, Chloe struggled to remember. Lucifer married Candy…. Cosplay maybe? He wore angel wings? Something about a school girl uniform? The rest was gone, faded into the recesses of her mind.

Lucifer awoke, slowly realizing his aching head, burning skin, and parched mouth were not part of his dream. It had seemed so real: the weight of her body in his arms, the brush of her lips against his jaw. He took stock of his surroundings: no sounds of civilization, the sun angled in the sky, sand everywhere, the relentless heat. A desert then, no Joshua trees in sight, so… the Mojave? Maybe? So that was, what, three hours by car to Los Angeles? Assuming he could find a road. And a car.

He looked over each shoulder for visual confirmation of the familiar weight he felt on his back. _Oh, bloody Hell. They're back._


End file.
